


Look Into My Eyes (It's Where My Demons Hide)

by Sherlockintheimpala



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BBC Sherlock - Freeform, M/M, Post Reichenbach, Songfic, mormor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-08
Updated: 2016-06-18
Packaged: 2018-02-08 00:06:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1919256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlockintheimpala/pseuds/Sherlockintheimpala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the incident atop St Bart's, Sebastian Moran goes on a road trip in an attempt to distract himself from the memories of his boss that plague him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Prologue

 

 

Jim had bought him a new scope for this job. And expensive, pretty thing, clear as crystal. He'd had it trained on John Watson's temple when he'd received the text.

 

**Bye! :)**

 

He'd tried to call his boss immediately, his boss who'd promptly ignored his phone and let it ring for a while before rejecting the call. Typical. Sebastian hadn't realised what he'd meant until he got to the roof of St Bart's hospital after that pretentious twat Jim was obsessed with, Sherlock, had jumped. He'd realised as Moriarty's various lackeys removed his body from the scene, still wearing his eager grin, but eyes devoid of their fanatical gleam. Moran had seen people shot in the head before. Hell, he'd shot plenty of people in the head himself before. But this was different. He didn't move, staring at the bloody mess that remained of his boss on the rooftop.

Shortly after that, he procured one of Jim's nicer cars and got out of England.


	2. Agony

**Chapter One - Agony**

_"Use me, take me home and use me"_

He'd met Jim in a bar in Dublin about six months after discharge from the army.

In fact, technically, he'd met Jim behind a bar in Dublin as he was chucked out in his arse in the rain for smacking some twat that had the nerve to look at him funny. Jim had sauntered out and offered him a ride home a few moments later, with smirk that screamed trouble to Sebastian. The guy was probably some kind of fruit loop serial killer by the predatory look in his eyes. He'd tried to slink away, maintain some kind of dignity before the guy pulled a gun on him.

"Don't be boring, Colonel Moran. You're not supposed to be boring. Then again, I suppose you're not supposed to be broke and letting that unrivalled skill with a sniper rifle go to waste. Which is why you're going to come home with me."

Right. Definitely a serial killer. Some kind of psycho with a singsong voice that was almost nauseatingly at odds with the threat behind his words.

"Who the fuck are you?!"

"Jim Moriarty. Hi!"

Definitely mental. Time to leave before the kook realises the gun in his hand has a trigger. Seb turned away and began to walk down the alley again, hoping the lunatic wouldn't follow.

"I can make you rich." Cloyingly sweet. Again, almost singing.

"Not interested"

"Or, I can make you into dog food"

Threats really shouldn't be sung. It made them creepier than mindless violence had a right to be, reasoned Sebastian. "Again, doesn't appeal."

"Good, so be a good kitten, and get into the car will you? I'd hate to kill you so early in our relationship, it'd be so... Disappointing."

Seb got into the car. And the second most powerful position in the criminal world. All because he provided a service Moriarty required. Moran had never missed a shot in his life. The day he did would be the day James Moriarty had him killed. 

_"This is agony, but it's still a thrill for me."_

But Sebastian found himself enjoying it. Needless violence, the beatings and tortures Jim subjected him to when he wanted to try something new, the thrill of another chase. He couldn't get enough of it, he found himself caught up in the world run by a spider in a suit.

_"This could end in tragedy"_

The sick fucking bastard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2 updates in a day! Working on the next chapter in hope of getting it up in the next could of days for you guys :) let me know what you think! Of course, I don't own the songs I'm using or the characters I'm referencing (if I owned Benedict, I'm 90% sure I wouldn't be sat here writing) and all that stuff :)
> 
> Thi chapter is written to Agony by Paloma Faith


	3. Get Lucky

Chapter 2- Get Lucky

 

_"All ends are beginnings"_

It hardly came as a surprise to Seb when his whole world changed after getting in the car. Not that it bothered him, his friends from the army despised him, and his family disowned him after his discharge. No, what surprised him was Jim. Sure, the guy had seemed like a flat out psycho that night, but truth be told? That wasn't even scratching the surface.

Jim flitted from high to low on a whim, and dragged Sebastian after. He'd been standoffish for the first few weeks, giving orders and little more, until a sudden change of heart about a month after he and Seb met. It was an evening off for both of them, Seb was downing his... Seventh? Beer of the night, and Jim appeared to be wandering aimlessly around the flat, more often than not with a drink of his own in his hand. (Whiskey. Irish. Fucking expensive. If Jim was anything, he was a fucking exhibitionist.) when he suddenly began singing along to the radio Seb had managed to ignore for the three hours previous. Suddenly Jim had thrown his arms around Seb's shoulders, and was dragging him up to sing with him. Finally realising it was an obscure cover of "Get Lucky", Seb had joined in, grinning drunkenly at his boss' Irish lilt. Jim had dragged him all across the room in a deranged waltz, before collapsing in a heap, giggling.

_"What is this I'm feeling?"_

The next day Jim had been furious, having woken up fully clothed on his bed, realising that Seb had put him there. He spent the next three weeks sending Sebastian out on mindless dogsbody work. He didn't mind as much he probably should have. It should have been punishment. Instead it was a welcome break from the tense atmosphere in the flat, a break he could use to consider the way Jim had laughed when Seb had picked him up to drop him in his own bed rather than the floor. Or the way Jim had practically fucking purred at him, calling Seb "his Tiger". What grown man fucking purrs?! More often than not, however, Seb found himself wondering why he liked how possessive Jim got when he was drunk. How he'd fucking laughed and shaken his head like some guy being complimented by a girl he had a crush on. No, it was the drink, nothing more.

Seb swore not to get that drunk again. For at least a week. Psycho was obviously catching.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one's a bit late, I got kinda stuck with where i was going with it and everything, but yeah, here it is. Here's the song I was on about, it's an awesome cover, if you haven't heard of postmodern jukebox before, check them out, https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=5QWBLVhql1w
> 
> Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, let me know what you think, and as always. I don't own these songs or any of the Sherlock actors (my life would be sunshine and rainbows if I had Benny on a permanent basis) nor do I own Michael Fassbender, who is so totally Moran in my mind, and yeah. I'm just borrowing them and playing dress up with their characters.


	4. Nicotine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly longer chapter this time, sorry for slow update! Few trigger warnings for this one, some violence with kinda graphic implications, and a vague mention of slightly less than consensual sex (kinda. Ish. It's complicated to explain.) and a fairly abusive relationship going on. But hey, have some MorMor, I don't know if this is going to go smutty or not, but let me know what you think!
> 
> This chapter is inspired by Nicotine by Panic! At The Disco, and as always, I dint own the song, I downtown any of the characters I'm playing with, and blah blah Unlike the evil Gatiss I don't own BBC Sherlock or any British actors and if I did I'd be playingwith Benny instead of rambling in the internet ;)

Chapter 3 - Nicotine

_"Burn my lungs and curse my eyes"_

"How much longer are you going to be sending me out on these pointless fucking jobs? You've been sulking with me for three fucking weeks. Are you gonna tell me what the fucking problem is, or are you just gonna carry on being a moody bitch all the time?"

Silence.

"Fine. I quit."

It wasn't such a stupid decision. He had all the money he could need now, thanks to his psycho ex-boss. Or at least, that's what Seb kept telling himself on the plane to India. He also kept telling himself that he was only going to India for the tigers, nothing to do with his boss (ex boss.) being a psychopath that just might follow him and kill him. Which he wouldn't. Ever. And even of he did, Seb could take him. Any day. (Right?)

One day later, he's staring at the burn phone he bought just before leaving Heathrow, silently begging Jim to call. The next second it's in pieces on the floor, and Seb's screaming obscenities at it, screaming at him, at everything. A week later, Seb's too drunk to even remember where he is. All he remembers is a lilting Irish tenor, eyes as dark and dangerous as staring down the barrel of a loaded gun, and a feeling that something was very wrong indeed.

_"I've lost control, I don't want it back"_

There were no orders, there was no-one to tell him what to do, there was just... Nothingness. Humid, sticky nothingness, with an abundance of alcohol with which Seb attempted to drown out the way Jim purred that night, attempted to drown out the thoughts of heat and pain and that _voice_ and all the thoughts that sent Seb's nerves jangling; sent his mouth dry and his blood south.

It was India where Seb got the tattoo, the glorious back piece that covered his scars, that snarled out at the world, that marked him out as a predator, that marked him out as Jim's. He pushed the latter thought away. No, it didn't mark him out as belonging to Jim, it marked him out as a sole predator. Tigers don't have leashes, tigers don't have owners. They are their own creature, deadly, beautiful and singular.

It took Seb six months to get the back piece completed, inked and coloured. It only took him half as long to start missing the familiarity of London bars, and the good old British pub crawl. He figured it had been long enough for Jim to have forgotten him, and he couldn't stay in India much longer, not without risking getting caught for hunting the tigers. Not that Colonel Moran left a trace that could identify him, but then again, maybe that was why he was so close to being caught.

Back in London, he found himself frequenting old haunts from before he met Jim. A nice, quiet bar in Northern London just round the corner from the block of flats he moved back into, with a few quiet regulars and a barmaid with a twinkle in her eye. "Ooh, the soldier's back. And there was me thinking you'd gone and got yourself shot and I'd live out my life on my own!" She'd laughed, recognising him almost instantly.

He didn't tell her the truth, didn't tell her about the family in Kandahar, or the bar girls in Helmand. He didn't tell her how they begged and pleaded with him to spare their lives, didn't tell her how they'd bargained with their own bodies to try and convince him to change his mind. He didn't tell her about his dishonourable discharge. He didn't tell her about Jim, or the murdering countless thugs at his orders. He didn't tell her about hunting tigers in India, or sniper practice on unsuspecting monkeys as they swung from tree to tree. Instead he brought her a couple of drinks, flirted shamelessly and took her home.

He never told her that the feeling of a life slipping away at his hands was infinitely more satisfying than the way she screamed and moaned his name. That screams of fear left him far more breathless than her murmured begging. That knowing bodies are cold and dead because of you is better to wake up to than a warm and soft body curled up next to you, still breathing.

_"I'm losing to you, baby I'm no match."_

He never went to her funeral either. The funeral after she was found murdered in a ditch, with the words "come get it, tiger" carved into her back alongside a macabre smiley face. Sebastian knew Jim wouldn't stop. Sebastian knew it couldn't be anyone other than Jim. After all, who else could take that much glee out of a murder to carve a smiley face into a corpse?

New Scotland Yard were baffled of course, there wasn't a trace of DNA on her, no clear motive, nothing to explain why she'd been killed. Some detective inspector had been round to ask Seb about it, of course, some guy in his forties maybe, called Graham or Gary or ...something. Seb could remember thinking he had a stupid last name, something vaguely French sounding. Lestrade. That was it. Seemed like an alright guy, didn't seem to suspect Seb at all. In fact, the guy hadn't seemed to keen on investigating the matter too deeply, he went running off after a text from someone about a green ladder and someone's brother. But that's the police for you. Seb was grateful in a roundabout way. Grateful that Jim hadn't seen fit to implicate him in the murder. Yet. He got the impression it would only be a matter of time before Jim sought to send a clearer message the Seb, but for now at least, everything seemed quiet.

But that didn't stop the guilt from crushing Sebastian. She'd been a nice enough girl, sweet and pretty, with dreams of finishing her studies in some London film school (Seb never bothered remembering exactly where) and becoming a horror movie director. She'd been fun, and had a knack for knowing exactly what Seb wanted to drink. She hadn't deserved to die, and she hadn't deserved to become a fly in Moriarty's web, drained and killed, before put out as a sign.

_"Just one more hit and then we're through"_

It was guilt that found him back outside the apartment he shared with Jim, picking the locks and storming in. He'd taken one look in those glittering black eyes, and screamed. Begged. Done everything he'd despised in his victims in an effort to get Jim to kill him. And Jim had laughed. The fucking bastard laughed in his face. Seb was on his knees, drunk and pleading, and Jim was standing over him, asking Seb if that's what he really wanted. He held a glock to Seb's head as he asked, smirking as Seb nodded.

"Sorry Tiger, not today!"

Seb made a grab for the weapon to end it himself, realising as he did so it was the very same gun Jim had pointed at him the night they met. Furious, Jim had hit Seb with the butt of the gun, beating him senseless, then pulling away again.

" I said no. Since when did you forget how to follow orders? I'd try and beat it back into you, but seems you're enjoying that too much, kitten. What happened, did you get lonely when you ran away to India? Did you realise you're nothing without me?"

Seb had just stared up at him incredulously through a haze of blood, memories of lonely, hot nights in India, dreaming about a demon's eyes and his sinful voice. And Jim knew about it all. How?

"Oh you did, didn't you? Did you dream about fucking me the way you fucked her? Did you fantasise about how angry I'd be, how hard I'd beat you? Did you think I'd forgive you, just because you're my _tiger_ , and I'd kiss all your wounds away and be so sorry because I can't live without my darling little pet?"

There was something so wrong about it this time, he still purred at Seb, but it was all danger and venom, daring Seb to say yes. Daring Seb to deny that Jim was right, that deep down, Seb had thought he was going to teach Jim a lesson, that Jim would be sorry.

"You're pathetic, kitten. I'm not yours."

And then there was a hand on Sebastian's chin, yanking his face towards Jim's, there were lips and teeth against bleeding lips, and it was messy and wrong and it _hurt_ but it was everything Seb wanted.

"You're mine."

*****

_"Your love's a fucking drag, but I need it so bad"_

Seb flicked another cigarette butt out of the window and floored the accelerator in a vague hope of driving fast enough to outrun his own mind.


	5. Sail

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two days, two updates! Have some fluffy, angsty stuff, with trigger warnings for violence, gore, abusive relationships and Jim being A Bit Not Good. Comments are like oxygen and cookies for me, and favouritefi may just be my favourite person right now, as you're kinda the reason I motivated myself into writing more for his after kinda ignoring it for a while. As always, I don't own anyone in my story *cries* nor do I own the song I reference, which today is Sail by Awolnation. Enjoy!  
> (Sidenote: this isn't beta-ed, I'll pick up any autocorrect issues etc as I see them, sorry, I know it's annoying.)

Chapter 4 - Sail 

_"This is how I show my love"_

If Sebastian thought Jim would be better after that initial encounter, he was sorely mistaken. Jim's moods became wilder, Seb's punishments that much harsher. Jim was determined to make sure the soldier never forgot whose orders he followed, to the point he carved his own initials into Seb's chest one night. He didn't kiss him again. He beat him frequently, possibly to test Seb's limits, or perhaps just to satiate his own morbid curiosity regarding torture methods. The reasons didn't matter anymore to Seb. All that mattered was that his boss was there.

He moved back into the apartment with Jim. Every instinct he possessed told him to run far away from the devil in a Westwood suit, but Seb couldn't help but get drawn closer. It made it worse that Jim knew. Jim toyed with him relentlessly, knowing Seb wouldn't, couldn't leave again. He could promise Seb the world with just a look, then leave for days on end. And days on end Sebastian would wait. The next time Jim kissed him was some three months later. There was some job in some warehouse in some hellhole in the arse end of fucking _nowhere_ that Sebastian got dragged along to because his boss couldn't abide long car journeys without company, or failing that, a government to topple. They arrived to a bunch of fairly run of the mill looking thugs, so Seb stopped paying attention. He was only there to look intimidating anyway, the only time Jim ever really needed him was if there was a true risk involved that his sniper team (abysmal, in Moran's opinion. Then again, every sniper was abysmal in his opinion. He figured he was biased.) couldn't handle. Other than that however, he was just expected to keep his mouth shut and look scary.

He was busy having an intimidating looking nap behind his sunglasses when said thugs' backup got the jump on them, throwing themselves towards Jim in an attempt to rid themselves of his influence. Seb awoke instantly, and tore the guys off his boss, but failed to notice the five behind him, who appeared to relish in beating him round the face with two by fours and baseball bats until he got round to incapacitating them. And okay, he probably didn't need to kill all eight of the moronic brutes, but a rude awakening and a broken nose don't make for happy tigers.

Which is how Seb found himself kneeling in a haphazard circle of bodies and gore, blood dripping down his face and pain blossoming through the right hand side of his face. Not to mention the six broken ribs and fractured tibia. All in all, not his best fight. Perhaps he'd let himself get a bit rusty.

"If you ever fall asleep on the job like that again, _kitten_ , I'll have you skinned."

Better than expected. Moran half expected to become suddenly _very_ familiar with the taste of bullets for that slip up. He gritted his teeth and stood, turning towards his boss. He had to admit, Jim was one hell of an actor. His threat had rolled of the tongue unwavering, imbued with its usual heady mix of poisonous hatred and singsong violence. So when Sebastian had turned, he'd expected Jim's glare to bore holes through his skull, an exasperated sigh and a phone in hand, organising the next in a list of heinous acts to be completed before breakfast. He hadn't expected Jim to look so small and ruffled, his suit pulled out of place, jacket strewn across the floor and his hair mussed. He'd stared at the guy closest to him, the guy Sebastian distinctly remembered snapping the neck of when he had the cheek to pull a knife and lunge for his boss. Jim swallowed, unable to tear his eyes away from the body.

Sebastian couldn't help it. He'd taken countless beatings from Jim, physical and verbal, but the man looked so vulnerable at that second that Sebastian couldn't stop himself. He forced himself to walk forward, picking his boss' jacket up off the floor. Pain washed over him as he walked forwards and pulled the jacket around Jim shoulders, turning his head away from the grim sight he was entranced by. That's when Jim had kissed him, seemingly without even any thought. It was brief, and soft, and everything their last kiss wasn't, and it had Sebastian enraptured.

"Thank you Sebastian." Barely audible, Jim had near murmured his thanks to Sebastian, before walking back to the car, pale and shaken.

_"Maybe I should cry for help. Maybe I should kill myself."_

Seb had returned to their apartment later in the day, having overseen Jim's 'cleaning' crew take care of the scene. He returned to wrath and fury at levels almost unknown. Jim broke Seb's jaw. Jim locked Seb in the bathroom alone with a fresh razor and a promise to leave and never come back. Seb begged for forgiveness, and when there wasn't a sound to signify Jim's return to the flat for a fortnight, Sebastian became a lot more friendly with the blade that kept him company, anything just to make it stop.

But then Jim had stormed into the apartment, wrenched the door from its hinges (apparently unlocking it just wasn't dramatic enough for his boss) and barked at him to clean his act up and drag his sorry arse to Armenia to take care of some business deal that Jim was tired of. Jim appeared to calm a little after that, resuming his usual dragging Seb around to look scary at clients. Until the clients suddenly got a lot richer and Jim got a lot pickier. Seb was in a suit every other day, an ordeal he despised. Give him a dress uniform any day, but a shirt and tie? Piss off. They're hot and uncomfortable and there's nowhere to conceal a fucking gun, and all too many ways for someone to strangle you with your own clothes. Every time that had a client like that, Seb would struggle into one of his suits for before his army days, and Jim would just glare at him before rolling his eyes and motioning Sebastian into the car. He'd make disgusted noises at Seb after the meetings as Seb shed the tie, waistcoat and blazer as soon as humanely possible and undid the top button of the shirt.

"You sound like my teachers at school when they saw my uniform Jim."

"Why am I not surprised you've always eschewed any attempt at looking presentable, Sebastian?"

Seb had just flashed Jim the grin that won him free drinks off every straight barmaid for a hundred mile radius, knowing his boss was in a good mood after closing another deal.

"We're getting you fitted. I'd burn what you're currently wearing, but as wonderful a sight as that would be, I loathe the smell of burning polyester."

And that's how Seb found himself stripped down to his underwear being measured for several different suits in a very exclusive little suit shop on a very expensive road in Central London. And Seb isn't going to ask why the owner of the shop knows Jim personally, or why the guy didn't look at all surprised when Jim specified the jackets were all to be fitted to allow for a concealed handgun.

_"This is how I show my pride"_

It's also when Jim noticed his dog tags. Seb still wore them to remind himself of who he was in Afghanistan, to remind him of the smell of arid desert, death and despair. Jim had seen the tattoo before, the snarling, leaping tiger in vibrant oranges stark against deep green jungle. But he stared for a good ten minutes at the glint of silver on Seb's chest, ignoring anyone who tried to engage him in conversation. Eventually Seb rolled his eyes and pulled the chain over his head, throwing them at Jim.

"There, seeing as you're clearly so fascinated by them. I don't need them anymore."

Seb smirked to see the flash of surprise cross his boss' face before Jim's phone rang and the man disappeared. He returned later, just as Seb was handed four new suits. They'd gotten into the car together, Seb inwardly groaning at the prospect of the drive up to Edinburgh to the next job and hence Jim's inevitable boredom. All that considered, Seb was more than a little surprised when Jim leant into his lap and for all intents and purposes, fell asleep. Knowing better than to wake the storm that was a tired and cranky Jim, Seb contented himself with petting Jim's hair, and biting back a self satisfied smirk when he saw a familiar silver chain around his boss' neck.

"This doesn't mean I like you, Sebastian."Came a muffled and rather sleepy voice from his lap.

"Wouldn't dare to think so, sir" Seb had replied, a smile playing across his face.


	6. What Kind of Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So my last update was in 2014. BUT GUESS WHO'S BACK BITCHES. Have some more unbetaed, possibly trigger-y MorMor. There's violence, gore, near death experiences, swearing, littering (not littering.) probably Jim being A Bit Not Good... You know the drill.

_“And with one kiss… you inspired a fire of devotion”_

Sebastian woke up.

“Fucking bastard Jim. You fucking BASTARD.”

Sebastian had driven for three days straight, neither knowing nor caring where he was or where he was headed. When the car decided to give up the ghost (Porsche. 911 Carrera. Hideous bumblebee yellow. Sebastian vaguely recalled Jim adoring the damned thing. He’d be unimpressed at how his kitten was treating his toys nowadays. Unimpressed enough to come back and chastise him for it?)

Stupid, Moran. People don’t come back.

His phone had rung for three days consecutively too. As word spread around that the Spider had met his demise, the focus of their empire shifted to Sebastian. Moriarty’s second in command, now assumed leader of the criminal underworld? No thanks. Seb didn’t want to deal with that world, didn’t want to deal with the people and the inevitable fight for the top spot. He didn’t want anything. He wanted numbness.

 

***

_“What kind of man loves like this?”_

An icebath. Cold. So cold. Can’t breathe. Numb. Can’t move. Help.

 _Help_.

Sebastian remembered drowning. He’d retreated to lick his wounds after another messy scrap in Europe – Lithuania maybe? Jim had been decidedly unhelpful in the entire situation, goading the pricks into giving his “Kitten” a go. 15 guys. Sebastian was good, but he wasn’t good enough to get out of that unscathed. The icebath was supposed to stop the hurt, Seb never got chance to heal properly anymore; Jim was too busy to care about proper regeneration time for various broken bones and sutured wounds. A knife had slipped through, unnoticed in Seb’s provoked rage, just between his bottom two ribs. He’d lost a lot of blood. He slipped under the surface of the water, too weak to do anything else, and couldn’t force himself up again. No-one knew where he was, but this wasn’t how Sebastian Moran wanted to die. He agreed with the sailors: a drowning is the worst way to go. Where’s the hail of bullets, or the earth shattering explosions? The glorious infamy of a brutal death was what Sebastian felt he deserved. Certainly it was the fate he had accorded those who stood between him and what he wanted. So surely karma dictated that same fate should be accorded to him, magnified by three or some bollocks?

Darkness crept over him, and the cold took root in his heart. he felt himself slipping away, a detached consciousness that didn’t want to die, but observed in a somewhat helpless manner.

He’d never see Jim again.

Had Sebastian been able to feel his throat at that point, he would have been aware of a sudden sob lodging there, as a single lump. All things considered, Seb didn’t think that thought had a right to be so upsetting. Jim was undeniably evil, and represented more danger than Seb had seen in his life. But then again, wasn’t that the fun of it? Hadn’t that been what Sebastian had chased through war torn deserts, and Indian jungles? Danger was Sebastian’s vice (well, his dearest vice certainly. Cigarettes, drink, and mindless violence polled way below danger.)

 _Cold_. Too late?

Seb felt his heart stop.

_“You do such damage, how do you manage?”_

An arm. Seb was yanked upwards.

Air? Pain.

Directly in the centre of his chest, like he’d been punched. Again. And again.

 _AIR_.

Sebastian gasped, ripping his throat roar. He was dimly aware of being pushed onto his side before he vomited the water that had consumed him, before the world went black again.

“ _Crawling back for more_ ”

He was in a bed. It was a warm bed, and so soft. He didn’t want to open his eyes. Everything hurt, but if he stayed still he’d be comfy and warm forever.

“You’re aware you said that aloud?”

Shit. No more staying in bed.

“And that. Kitten, if you plan on killing yourself again, think again. Your life belongs to me now, I will tell you when it ends. Or maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll just get rid of you now to spare me the effort of dragging you around.”

Sebastian opened his eyes. Jim was sat in an armchair, staring at him. His suit was wet. Why was his suit wet? He was dimly aware of the entire room being almost painfully golden, but there was no way he was in heaven. Especially not with Jim glaring down at him. 

“Because I pulled you out of the bath you FUCKING DROWNED YOURSELF IN.” Jim went from whisper to screaming in a syllable. Seb flinched. He hated himself for flinching. Jim was standing, eyes burning holes in Sebastian’s head, fiery darkness that promised unending wrath. Sebastian reached out to try and remove his boss’ dripping jacket. Or at least, that’s what he meant to do. In reality, he lacked the strength and collapsed back down onto the bed with a strangled whimper. Since when was he even capable of making such a pathetic noise?

Jim’s hands were turning blue. “You’ll rip your stitches Kitten. Try not moving. Or are you too dumb to understand that one?” Jim rolled his pet name for Seb off his tongue like some noxious poison. Seb pretended that the pain in his chest that followed had more to do with the drowning than the look of disdain Jim gave him. Jim stalked out. One of his medical staff came in. The world went soft and black again.

When he awoke again, the bed beside him shifted. Jim was asleep, pressed against Seb. Of course, this baroque nightmare could only be Jim’s bedroom. The smaller man was like a radiator, and Seb wanted desperately to pull him closer. “Don’t even think about it Kitten. You don’t get to be all cuddly, you nearly died on me. You’re going to be on the naughty list for quite some time” Jim barely stirred, not opening his eyes as he said this. Sebastian saw the glint of a chain around his neck – his dogtags. He ran his finger along the chain. “Kitten. I told you already…” Sebastian huffed, sulking. Jim opened a single eye. “You don’t seem to realise quite what an infraction I consider your behaviour today.”

Sebastian nestled into Jim’s chest. The consulting criminal fell silent, his Tiger smiled smugly to himself. Jim was never speechless. And if he was this angry about Sebastian almost dying, he wasn’t going to kill him tonight. Probably. Right now the need for warmth and comfort made the probability of torture in the future worth it. Jim gave in, wrapping an arm around Seb’. “This is not the end of this. You will be punished.”

“Shushhh. Cold. Sleepy.”

“You do NOT get to tell me to hush Sebastian. Do not snore. I will remove every single one of your organs in alphabetical order and made you lick them.”

“Well brain starts with a B, so I think I’d be too dead to notice pretty quickly” Seb giggled, immune to the threat of Jim’s wrathful temper.

“I’D DO IT IN REVERSE.”

“shhhh…”

Jim glared at the man in his arms. Sebastian was already asleep. He would be punished for his disregard for threats, Jim reminded himself. Just maybe not until he had healed up properly.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! So this is my first fic, so my apologies if it's total crap. Rating may go up in later chapters, I'm not sure yet. Any constructive criticism is more than welcome! Please let me know what you think, and I will try and update fairly regularly


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